


Celo

by Alania_Black



Series: Domestic UnBliss [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alania_Black/pseuds/Alania_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“‘Uh, a little… help?’ John asked weakly, head poking up from a tangle of tentacles and an oddly shaped little body.” – in which John and Rodney accidentally adopt an undersized cephalopod, and somehow fall in love along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Celo

John dove freely, watching the count in his head carefully as he measured the external pressure on the hull of the craft. He evened his dive out carefully as he began to reach 10000 feet, testing the pressure on his hull. After Rodney’s impromptu dive, they had all been so wary of using the Puddle Jumpers in the water. But Rodney had decided that fear of the Puddle Jumpers in the water was all the more reason to actually test one, so John got to spend his day enjoying the sights as he dove and measured and tested. Right now he was diving deeper and deeper to check the hull integrity, although so far each stop had showed the same results. Another 10000, taken in 1000 foot drops, then another, then Rodney’s voice came over the radio.

“OK John, I think that’ll do. Start ascending, 1000 feet at a time, I want to know how this is affecting you as well, so set up the biometrics that Carson installed.”

John reached his mind out to the bio unit and turned it on, shuddering as he felt it scan over him and start monitoring. The feeling faded into the background of his mind, and he ignored it as he rose steadily to Rodney’s co-ordinates.

“Good. Carson says the bios look good too, no signs of decompression problems, no signs of decompression inside the Jumper at all.” He heard clicking noises through the still open channel, probably Rodney typing, then Rodney’s voice again. “You’re gonna love this bit, John. Go wild, do your stupidly dangerous spins and speeding and whatever else you’d do to test a ship in the air. Get a really good feel for how the Jumper reacts to the water.”

John laughed and toggled his radio, speeding up the craft but moving forward this time. He’d been on ships before, even on a sub once, but the feel of those crafts moving in the water felt nothing like this. He moved through a cold stream in the ocean, felt the shift in the Jumper’s systems as it reacted to the sudden change, but the Jumper itself didn’t even seem to flinch in reaction. It just moved along happily, looping beautifully under his commands and gliding through the water as naturally as any sea-born animal.

In fact, he was having so much fun that when the alarm sounded, he barely realised what was going on. He cursed and pulled the Jumper quickly up, reacting as hard and fast as he could to the threat. He came up to the surface, bobbing gently on the water within seconds as he’d been no more than a hundred feet down at the time, and breathed shakily. He could hear Rodney’s panicked babbling, but it still took him a second to react, to raise his hand and open a channel back.

“John, what happened, are you still alive in there?” Rodney cried, melodramatic as always. John snorted.

“Christ, McKay, it takes more than a near miss with a fish to kill me.” He replied drolly. The first sign of trouble was the pause before the reply.

“John… You didn’t have a near miss. Whatever it was, you hit it. The Jumper systems record an impact.” John could see it in his mind even as Rodney said it, the corresponding record showing on the view screen when he called it up for confirmation. He’d hit something. He’d killed something.

Twenty years old, back in his hometown for the first time since he enlisted, John stormed angrily out of his Father’s house. It was one argument too many, and he took to the road far too fast in his car. He didn’t even see the child until it was too late, until he was spinning wildly, practically flying on the road before coming to a stop against a tree.

Later, the Doctors would tell him it was a miracle. He’d escaped with a mild concussion, and grazes. The little girl whose mother’s eyes he couldn’t bear to look at had a broken arm, from where she’d fallen backwards to evade the car. If he’d been anyone else, he would have probably hit her.

John had vowed never, ever to get that angry again. He’d also never spoken to his Father again.

Carson’s voice came over the headset now, calling his name and asking for him to respond. It took a few, dizzy seconds for John to realise that was because he was throwing up, the bios flashing warningly and indicating high blood pressure, racing heart, shallow breathing. Signs of shock, ones he remembered well, a panic attack at the edge of his mind.

“I’m fine, Carson, I’m OK.” He rasped, after rinsing his mouth out and taking a few deep breaths to settle the nausea, the racing heart. He hadn’t flashed back to that near miss in nearly a decade.

“Come back in, John. Stay floating for now, the Jumper’s a pretty good life-raft, and I don’t want to risk you in the air or under the water if the hull is… is damaged.” John nodded, reaching out shaky metal controls to pass on his instructions. It was only then that he really noticed how far out from Atlantis he was, nearly half an hour away at this speed, on the water.

He probably needed that time, to calm down.

Twenty six minutes later, John carefully flew the Jumper into the Jumper Bay and settled her down, being careful to keep the damaged area (where the carcass must be) elevated, so the damage wouldn’t be hidden. He was out of the Jumper and heading for the damage (carcass) before Rodney, Carson, several Xenobiologists and Elizabeth were bearing down on him.

The scene that greeted them when they rounded the Jumper shocked them all to silence.

“Uh, a little… help?” John asked weakly, head poking up from a tangle of tentacles and an oddly shaped little body.

“Well,” Rodney said quietly, “at least you didn’t kill it.”

* * * * *

John sat meekly on the Infirmary bed, watch as Carson and the Xenobiologists – all of them – flittered around him. They were watching him, watching it, warily, as though they were waiting for it to do something nefarious.

So far it was content to stay curled around John, purring softly. Of course, that might be because John had taken to snarling at anyone that came close to them. To John it was self preservation. He didn’t want to think what it thought.

The first thing they’d done, when they’d found the thing attached to him, was to try and pull it off. It had promptly tightened up so much that John had choked, and a distinct head had poked out, fins flaring around its head in a temper-filled display of warning. They had backed away, quickly, and, a few breathless moments later, the thing had settled down. It started purring when John sharply warned them away from it, and curled his hands under it to support it – his back, rather.

John frowned down at it. The tentacles had begun to relax, and the purrs were slowing, becoming shallower, but somehow John didn’t think it was sleeping.

“Hey, guys, is it sick?” He asked, then, feeling guiltily, “Is it injured or dying from where I hit it.”

The Xenobiologists crowded closer, and now John was worried when they were able to detangle most of the tentacles from him and examine it. “I don’t think it’s injured, the way it’s been clinging I think it attached itself to the Jumper rather than you hitting it. Maybe it’s sick?” Then there was a babble of talking, before one looked at him. “How long has it been out of the water for?” She asked. He frowned.

“Two hours, give or take.” He replied with a frown.

“I think maybe it’s getting ill because it’s been out of the water for too long.” She told him, looking down at it.

Before he could respond, or any of them, something shifted out of a cabinet, then a small whirring sounded. They located the source in time to watch a perfectly shaped, deep tub roll over to John’s bedside. He looked at it, then the little shape in his arms, then at it again.

“Huh, I’m gonna guess it won’t grow up to be a Wraith, then.” He deadpanned, gently lowering the creature into the water. For several tense seconds it didn’t move, then suddenly it expanded, the whole being seeming to inflate a little bit, and it whirled happily around, reminding John of nothing so much as a small, excited child. The tentacle that lashed out and wrapped around his wrist only confirmed that.

“It’s a baby.” He told the scientists, and the various onlookers.

“How do you know?” The woman (he thought she might actually be the head of the division) asked him curiously. Bates, in the background, beside Ronon, looked far more suspicious. He was holding his knife and eyeing the tentacle like he’d prefer to slice it off his CO’s arm. John shifted protectively, then realised what he was doing and subsided on to the bed with a mild panic.

“I, ah, think it might be communicating with me. Mentally.” He replied sheepishly. “Like, I get a feeling it’s a child, a feeling that thought isn’t coming from me. I think,” He looked away for a moment, his gaze falling on the creature in the tank. “I think it thinks I’m its mother. He. He thinks I’m his mother.”

Silence. Then Rodney laughed. He strode forward and looked down at the creature, before shaking his head. “Of course it does, have you seen its fins?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John yelped. Rodney just smirked – then yelped himself as a tentacle attached itself to his wrist. He looked down with it in dismay, then John was the one snickering at him. “If I’m Mom, Rodney, I think you just became Daddy.”

* * * * *

It turned out that John was more than right about that. The creature had decided that Rodney was its Dad, and he wasn’t going anywhere, either. Once the Xenobiologists could convince the Database that they didn’t actually know what the creature was, a helpful fact sheet about it popped up for them. In the two hours it took to translate the important information, Rodney had already had a panic attack about it and spent over an hour talking about how the Gould came out of the water. Not the most brilliant topic of conversation when the damn thing wasn’t letting go of either of them, and no one was willing to risk losing a hand – or worse – trying to pry it off. They were, of course, quarantined when it became clear the thing wasn’t just after John.

Doctor West (John had finally remembered her name and, to his shame, three botched dates last year before they had agreed it probably wasn’t going to work) was smiling as she came over, and stroked one gentle finger over the tentacle attached to John.

“It’s called a Paxarbolis. It’s basically a Cephalopod, similar to an Octopus except it has seven tentacles. You might call it a Septipus. Septipus Paxarbolis.” She joked, smiling. The smile fell a little when they both continued to look at her, clearly waiting for more important information. Like if it was about to kill them both. “You’re right, John, it is a baby. It’s supposed to grow over the next twenty years or so to something roughly the size of the Puddle Jumper – which is why, we think, it attached itself to you in the first place. But this one’s… malformed. Defective, you might say. We think that’s why it’s alone; according to the Database they travel in pods, and have a very tight bond to their parents. This is one of the things that makes this different to Octopi, actually, who tend to be solitary very young. But the Paxarbolis live in pods, and are very highly intelligent, even more so than Octopi, who are some of the most intelligent sea-creatures we’ve discovered. This little one, however, has a defect that means it won’t grow. It’s basically going to stay baby-sized forever, and the babies are vulnerable to the Whale-like creatures. So its pod abandoned it when it was born, and the poor thing must have travelled around looking desperately for a family.”

“And it latched on to the Jumper?” Rodney asked dryly, looking at the creature in the water.

“Well, as John noticed, there’s a certain empathic ability to these creatures. It’s how they communicate with their family. So when the little one spotted a Jumper, roughly the same size as its mother and exuding an empathic ability, it chased it down and got attached. Then John turned it off, it realised the Jumper wasn’t Mom after all, and John stepped around the corner, still naturally exuding that empathic ability, and it realised John is the mother it bound itself to.”

John shrugged. “So we release it, and it goes and finds another Mommy.”

“More likely, we release it, it floats around forlornly, crying for you until it starves to death or gets eaten. It sees you as its parents now, it has bound itself to you both and it will die if we release it. It’s only a couple of days old, according to the database, and it would have probably died within the next couple of days if you hadn’t been there.”

John wants to say that clearly the little thing was doomed, so they should just do the kind thing and release it, give it a chance. He’s sure some of the marines have been dreaming up relishes and side dishes for it, and doesn’t that thought just hurt? He sighs in defeat. It’s ridiculous, he knows, but he feels like this little one is his responsibility now, blames himself for it being here.

“How do I look after it?” He asks despairingly. That’s when she smiles and he thinks a, this is why I tried to date her and, b, I was totally set up.

“Atlantis has already taken care of that. He can absorb water quickly and stay out of the water for a couple of hours at a time until the sickness starts. Come on, carry him.”

John lifts him out, laughing as Rodney tries to take the chance to slip his wrist out of its grip and fails, utterly. They walk down the corridors to his room, John trying not to think of how this must look, a pretty, diminutive biologist leading John and Rodney to his room, with a baby cephalopod attached to his chest, clutching one of Rodney’s wrists like a child’s safety-blanket.

Atlantis, John thinks, has outdone herself. His bedroom walls have turned into an aquarium, his floor and three of the four walls all thickened and filled with water for… for the cephalopod to live in. The water doesn’t fill the whole wall, stopping about a third of the way up, and there’s an opening, compete with a slide on the fourth wall (the one with the door) so it can get out and about. There are small fish in the water, and John just knows they’re for dinner. The whole affect is actually really cool, especially how his poster is still on the wall, and the way the whole tank thing arches around the door to his bathroom and balcony (he can see the outside through the tank, but it’s distorted by the water. He can’t see through the other walls).

“How?” He asks in awe, gently lowering the cephalopod onto the slide and encouraging it to let go and slip into the water. It takes a few moments, and then suddenly it happens in a rush, as the miniature creature spots the fish. Rodney is released as well. John felt a strange welling of almost sadness, but he felt a happy brush to his mind in the next moment. Then he blushed as he realised he was getting all parental over an overgrown fish. Mollusc, whatever.

“Atlantis apparently rearranged. I don’t know how.” Rodney looked at the cephalopod with starry eyes for a minute, before rushing out of the room, calling for Radek. On second thoughts, that look had probably been for his magically-rearranging walls.

John glanced at Doctor West, and realised with a sinking feeling that the look she was giving him was similar to the one Rodney had been giving the wall. Joy.


	2. Naming

Rodney glared at the small Cephalopod, watching as it lazily waved a fin at him. They had quickly discovered that, while the tentacles were useful for holding on to John and Rodney, physical communication happened using the fins. Anger or fear was displayed by a truly ferocious blaze around his head, tiredness or the dehydration sickness induced flat, unhealthy looking fins. Happiness had eventually begun to produce spasming, joyful flaps that John swore he’d learned from Rodney. And after a few days, they noticed that when they thought about him, talked about him or looked at him intently, his fin would flap gently, like he was acknowledging them.

Right now it was floating happily around, one tentacle wrapped warm and safely around Rodney’s wrist. Rodney lived in different quarters, so he could only see his ‘baby’ intermittently. From what John and the Xenobiologists who were practically stalking him had said, Rodney being so often absent was making the creature ill. So now Rodney had to take lunch, and had to leave work at a decent time to come spend time with it. In John’s quarters, where John often was, joining Rodney in communing with the creature. It was awkward, but oddly comfortable and nearly domestic, the way they would sit together on the low couch, eating and communicating with the Cephalopod.

Unlike Rodney, John’s presence here was so strong that he needed to spend only a few minutes of each day in direct physical contact with the Cephalopod, usually his presence in the room was enough. Although when they had both spent two days off world last week and come home, the Cephalopod had been frantic, and it had stayed out of the water, gripping both of them tightly, for the full two hours before sickness forced it into the water. Even then, it had maintained a tight grip on their arms for several hours.

The walls, once it became clear that the Cephalopod needed proximity and contact with them while still in the water, had been more than willing to accommodate. The fourth wall, the only one with no water on it, had grown a small tank, half-wall height, fed water (and Cephalopod) by an encased tubular slide. The Cephalopod seemed to love sliding up and down the tube, and tended to spend most of his time in the little tub when John or Rodney were in the room, diving into the main tank intermittently for snacks.

Rodney often brought some food from the mess for it as well, they had discovered that the Cephalopod loved vegetables, almost any vegetables were accepted like they were delicacies, and the Cephalopod could spend an hour flapping and burbling happily. Sometimes it would even come out and curl up on one of their chests, purring with pleasure as they fed it. This was the reason for Rodney’s current glare. He had about ten minutes before he had to get back to work, and the yam-stealing creature seemed determined to crawl onto Rodney’s chest, interrupt his work, and sit there for likely the full two hours, eating its pilfered lunch.

“Rodney,” John finally said, shooting him a look, “your staff will probably enjoy it if you took a long lunch, and considering that your normal working day consists of about five hours more than it needs to, no one is going to complain. Carson might actually kiss you for finally taking a break! Sit down and let him spend some real time with you, huh?”

Rodney switched his glare over to John, although his arms were gathering the cephalopod up obediently. “I have meetings and important research to do! Unlike you, I actually work at work, and I can’t take two-hour lunches to pander to the needs of an immature, undersized octopus!”

He thought his rant would be more convincing if the creature now wrapped happily around him and nibbling on his lunch wasn’t purring and obviously happy. Neither of them had had a negative thought or feeling around or towards it yet, but Rodney thought that if they did, it would probably not look so content.

“Oh, hush. You’re the boss, reschedule. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, I am working. I’m doing my staff evaluations.” John flapped paper at Rodney, indicating the rapidly decreasing pile.

Rodney clicked his tongue at John, but subsided. “It stole my lunch. I brought it a nice bit of nearly-kale, but instead it took my lunch. I don’t like nearly-kale!”  
“If you don’t like it, he’s not going to want to eat it. He hides if people bring citrus products in here.” John pointed out, glancing at the discarded vegetable.

“That’s because it’s not stupid.” Rodney stroked its head proudly.

“He, Rodney. He, not it.”

“He, then.” Rodney wrinkles his nose. “Not that he probably cares.”

“He probably needs a name.” John replied, blatantly ignoring Rodney’s comment. Rodney shrugged.

“Well, name him, Mom.” He shrugged, pretending he didn’t care as he settled down with the Cephalopod and his research papers.

“Let’s call him Luke, since he has the force.” John said, after a while. Rodney squawked angrily.

“Luke! I am not calling our Cephalopod Luke!” He began, gearing up for a spectacular rant. John just sat back smugly.

And so began the name war.

* * * * *

They both realised fairly soon that no name would win if the Cephalopod didn’t answer to it, so between sabotaging each other’s names, pulling pranks to throw the other off, and getting their friends in on the battle, they also spent time undermining the other’s name choice with the Cephalopod and planning a sneaky sub-war focussed on persuading him to chose the name they wanted for him. It would have probably worked better if either one of them could stick with a name for more than a few hours, but the shine of a good name wore off quickly when they didn’t both like it.

After a week, Rodney took to trying to persuade the Cephalopod to choose one of his favourite composer’s names, and took to playing their music to get a reaction from the creature. Although the Cephalopod seemed to like it (and Rodney was spending more and more time enjoying watching the creature gliding sweetly through the water to his favourite classical pieces) so far nothing had stuck.

Until he started playing Vivaldi, and the track flowed into a cello concerto. The music started mournful, gently, but gradually built to a swirling, bubbling piece that carried the haunting smoothness of the ocean within swells of twirling notes that seemed to perfectly reflect the way the Cephalopod was moving. The entire second movement was beautifully composed and seemed to fit the Cephalopod. The Cephalopod, for his part, was quite clearly in love with the sound of the cello, and deflated a little when the music moved on. Rodney quickly changed tracks, this time a cello concerto in E-minor that was a little more robust, although it still carried the distinct, haunting notes of the cello. It was perfect.

“Cello.” He told the Cephalopod, eyeing it as it twirled excitedly through the water. “Cello. No, no, not Cello,” he gasped a moment later, “Celo. That’s your name. Celo.”

And, as though he’d just been waiting for one of them to name him with conviction, the Cephalopod, Celo, flared his fins in a happy spasm. Rodney beamed back. Now he just had to tell John that they had their name. Considering the way the last week had gone, he doubted John was going to argue.


	3. Domestication

Two weeks after Celo finally got his name, the Wraith came: two large battle cruisers were scarily close to Atlantis. It took lot of time and effort from the entire staff for them to fight off the invasion, as well as a fairly timely rescue from the Apollo. John and Cadman had both suffered the loss of one of the jumpers in the battle against the Wraith, but no one from the colonies on Atlantis or the mainland were killed or culled. The aftermath left everyone on Atlantis bubbling with excitement and adrenaline.

For Rodney, however, the week around the invasion had been exhausting. He’d barely had time to stop for food, and had taken to napping on his couch. He hadn’t had any time to spend with Celo, and whenever he saw John in the corridors or in meetings the pained, hollow look in his eyes made him feel worse. John was managing a few hours with Celo at night, but Rodney was certain the baby Cephalopod was suffering.

He hadn’t realised how badly until he had stumbled, still exhausted, into John’s rooms the day after the invasion and had finally seen the young Cephalopod. He was listless and deflated looking, bobbing disconsolately in the small pool on the fourth wall. John had pushed his bed over to the wall, and was sprawled across the bed fast asleep, one tentacle wrapped tightly around an outstretched arm.

He sighed and pushed off his fleece jumper and shoes, crawling onto the bed beside John. John shifted and mumbled, but Rodney shushed him before he woke up fully, and stroked Celo’s tentacle. He frowned at how dry it was, but before he could do anything, the Cephalopod’s head bobbed up and he hauled himself out of the water, flinging himself at Rodney. He landed with a soft ‘oof’ on the bed, holding Celo close to his body. He drifted off to sleep only a few moments later, barely feeling John curl into his side.

* * * * *

“What do you mean, I have to move in?!” Rodney cried incredulously, staring at the woman from Xenobiology. She stared back implacably.

“You came to me, Doctor McKay. I’m just giving you my professional opinion about the best way forward for your Cephalopod.” Dr West replied with a forced kind of patience in her expression.

“How is my moving in supposed to help him?”

“He’s been ill for several weeks now, you told me yourself. I have examined him and compared his current readings to those we took when he first arrived. As far as I can see, there is nothing physically wrong with him, and he has been perfectly happy in that pool. Right up until the Wraith came and you, Doctor McKay, his mother, disappeared. He is an empathetic creature and the loss of your mind pattern from his life for an extended period was seriously damaging. The little time you do give him isn’t enough to help him recover from that and, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you would be able to give him more. Moving in is the only thing I can think of that would give him enough access to you.”

“C’mon Rodney, it’ll only be for a while, until he’s feeling better.”

Dr West coughed awkwardly. John shot her a quelling glare, but it apparently wasn’t enough to shut her up, because she said, with a wry little expression, “once you’ve moved in, moving out again would probably make him sick again.”

Rodney spluttered incoherently, face reddening. John wondered how long it would take him to give in.

* * * * *

Surprisingly, Rodney capitulated fairly quickly. John figured it showed how worried he’d been about Celo that he’d listened to a woman whose ‘science’ Rodney barely respected on a good day. At first Rodney has been all bristles, demanding that he could keep his room as a study and moving around far too much of John’s things for his stuff. But he settled happily, especially when they carried the final boxes of Rodney’s things in and found Atlantis had spontaneously expanded into the neighbouring empty space and created a study room for Rodney and a separate bedroom so they could make the main room into a common living space. Celo was going crazy enjoying the extra space, and they had found smaller tanks on the walls in the bedroom and study so Celo could come and stay with them when he wanted. Rodney was particularly attracted to the glazed wall in the bedroom that gave a wonderful view of the stars and darkened to block out the light when they were trying to sleep.

Now if only Atlantis would give them separate rooms. Or at least separate beds.


	4. Bonus chapter: Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney had never felt lonely before, but now it was getting harder to come to his quiet, sterile quarters and leave John and Celo behind.

Rodney walked into his quarters and dropped his radio headset on the table. He shed his fleece and shoes and pad barefoot to the kitchen area and set the coffee maker going, before pulling out one of his powerbars. He had it unwrapped and ready to go and had time to go to the toilet before the coffee was ready to go. His momentum carried him through until he was sat on his bed, coffee in one hand, powerbar in another and a folder full of statistics and results from the latest sensor array experiments before he had a chance to think.

The thing was, it was getting harder and harder to come here. It was too quiet, for one, and too sterile. Plain grey walls, where John’s quarters were glass and variegation from the water. Silence where John’s quarters were filled with noise – the gentle sound of Celo in the water, the music he plays almost constantly, the sound of John moving and existing. Even the few times he’s gone there alone there has been something there that makes the place less lonely, like John could walk in at any moment.

He’s never felt like this before. M. Rodney McKay has always been a creature of habit, a solitary person for so long it may as well have been congenital. It was strange to find himself suddenly missing others when he was alone, when it had always been a comfort to him before. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

He sat back against the wall, statistics discarded and coffee cooling rapidly. He felt irritable, suddenly, restless, like he could jump out of his skin at any moment. He considered and discarded the thought of doing something – there were a few games on the intranet now, or he could watch one of the movies that he had stashed away, or had been uploaded and shared. That wasn’t what he wanted.

His radio chirped in the corner, and Rodney answered it out of habit. He relaxed against the wall, tension draining away with a smile as John’s voice came through, inviting him over for the evening. He picked out a movie that moments ago had been unpalatable, and dug out one of the last few strawberry powerbars that were John’s personal favourites. He also picked up the statistics, knowing that John wouldn’t mind him working during the evening. He was out the door in less than a minute, on his way to spend the evening with John and Celo.

**Author's Note:**

> A Paxarbolis is a made-up Octopus, I read about on Wikipedia. I was looking up appropriate Latin names, and I had to have this one. I wanted to cry I laughed so hard. Octopus facts are true, as are Whale facts. The facts about the Septipus Paxarbolis are made up. As is it.


End file.
